


Preserving A Home

by Kearatheshadow



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Lotor is a history nerd, Multi, Panic Attacks, Pining, Polyamory, Polydins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 11:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kearatheshadow/pseuds/Kearatheshadow
Summary: Lotor had given himself a fresh start by disappearing into the mountains of a dying Vermont town; he'd managed to get two jobs he loved, a small cabin, and peace and quiet-- until the colonial house he was assigned to register as historic was sold to six people who had even less business being there than he did.Lotor finds himself drawn to the new arrivals, yet at the same time, his carefully arranged estrangement from his parents is finally put to the test as his mother frantically tries to find him.It's a story about love, vulnerability, forgiveness, and how sometimes, there really is safety in numbers.





	Preserving A Home

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry if Lotor particularly is out of character, I tried my best. Either way, here’s him as a history nerd, an immigrant in a small town, and a disaster gay.

Lotor could admit that he could be pretentious at times: he was raised to have high standards, to carry himself like a king, to enjoy all the finery of life that he could take: however, there was no more powerful a lesson than coming to terms with your own vulnerability, and living under his father's roof was like living with his chest carved open-- vulnerable wherever he went.

He learned to enjoy the smaller things as he matured into an adult: a quiet morning, a good novel, the loose floorboard under his bed, the kind words of the landscapers, a successful lie, the smell of old books, and even the discretion of the bank manager when opening a separate account.

Nothing, however, was nearly as satisfying, as when he woke up one morning, removed his duffle bag from the floorboards, boarded a plane, and flew halfway around the world with years of carefully hoarded savings, a visa prepared, and a job lined up.

One year later, and the memory of the plane taking off never failed to lift his mood. 

It failed him now.

"What do you mean you _sold_ it?"

Sendak, the bastard, just laughed at him through the phone. "I said what I meant. Sold it just last week, for a good price too. They’re moving in this weekend.”

Lotor pinched the bridge of his nose, and slumped over his kitchen table, photos of the antique early New England colonial house scattered in front of him. "I can't believe-- literally all you had to do was let me--"

Sendak grunted. "Not my problem anymore, take it up with the new owner."

"Who is-" the phone softly beeped at him, signaling that Sendak had hung up.

"You utter... ugh,"  Lotor didn't dare slam his phone anywhere, but he blocked him out of spite.

The state historic preservation society had been circling Sendak long before Lotor had moved here and joined their ranks, but the stubborn old man was a hoarder, a retired real estate tycoon, and enjoyed restricting them from registering the oldest property in the area as "historic," constantly threatening to bulldoze it completely. He didn't even _live_ there, he was from _Canada._

And now someone else would live there, and Lotor was forced to reevaluate his options. He sighed and shuffled into his small kitchen, filling the kettle with water.

Worse case scenario, they would be just as bad, maybe even worse than Sendak-- adding additions, renovations, ripping up the meadow or cutting down trees, keeping the outside but modernizing the inside to the point of mutilation.  

Yet.

There was always the possibility that they bought the property _because_ it was old. There was a chance that the new owners would want to preserve the house as well. The best case scenario would be that _he_ would be the one to finally close the case, so to speak.

He made his tea and made up his mind. Come Sunday Lotor was going to welcome the new owners personally, and damn it all if he wasn't going to _charm the hell_ out of them.

* * *

 

Lotor studied the house as he walked up the driveway, hoping to glean any last minute information about the new residents. There were two trucks, one motorcycle and an actual minivan in makeshift parking spots in front of the house, none of them new, but not falling apart either. The windows on both floors were open, most likely to let the august wind attempt to air out the rest of the house. As he got closer, he heard music floating out from the house...something of the bubblegum-pop teenage girl variety, probably because of an actual teenage girl.

In the grand scheme of a small Vermont town, Lotor knew he’d been a bit of an anomaly: a young brown British man buying a cabin on top of a hill, taking a modest job in the small library. He didn’t fit the model of the rest of the working-class white town, or probably even what the new owners would think of the town, and that, to him, was just _fine_.

He was ready to be as flawlessly polite as possible, a plate of homemade biscuits in one hand, the other poised to knock. He was ready to welcome the undoubtedly young white couple and their numerous offspring. Who else would buy a home with _seven_ bedrooms?

His knuckles rapped on the door, and for a heartbeat, there was nothing but the muffled beats of the song. He frowned, and raised his hand to knock again, when suddenly there was a symphony of crashes, yelling, and brief spirited barking, before the music was switched off, and the door was flung open.

“Heeeeey,” said the man in front of him. He was tall and lean, with brown tan skin and a large, sheepish grin. “Are you one of our new neighbors?” He leaned against the door frame, overly casual, eyes scanning Lotor up and down, and Lotor was very suddenly hit with the realization that he barely knew anyone else in this town close to his age, and that he hadn’t gone on a date in a very, _very_ long time.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, not quite, I’m--”

A even larger man peered behind the first, skin a shade darker, but with a smile just as contagious. “Ohhoho _nice_. Are those cookies?”

“Uh, yes, I made them this morning,” decidedly off balance, he just lifted the plate out and the bigger man whisked them away.“Thanks man! Are you free for a bit? You can meet everyone.”

He had disappeared with the cookies, presumably to the kitchen, and Lotor was more than a little flustered, especially since the first man just laughed and held the door open for him, and Lotor really couldn’t say no. He’d wanted to see this house for _months._

It didn’t look like much now, mostly because of the mountains of boxes still scattered around every free space available, but Lotor’s heart was _racing_ . This wasn’t part of the plan, but by just a cursory glance, he could see the old wooden bannister of the upstairs railing, the woodstove in the living room with the original brick fireplace, and… were those _gas lamps_ lining the wall?

“This is very kind of you,” he said to the first man, throat tight. “I’m glad you managed to purchase this property.”

“Yeah?” He replied, grin turning wicked. “Say that after you meet the rest of ‘em.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted up: “Come down and meet the neighbors!” He turned to Lotor and stuck out his hand. “I’m Lance by the way, the other one’s Hunk.”

This was more familiar ground, and he was able to gain some confidence back when he shook Lance’s hand.  “I’m Lotor, and I actually live on the other side of town, but-”

The first one to rush down the stairs was a black women, whose demeanor he could only describe as _radiant_ , in a fluttering pink sundress, silver-white hair coiled into a perfect bun. She paused when she got to the bottom, smile bright. “Why _hello._ ” Lotor felt his face grow warm, and tucked a fly away hair behind his ear, suddenly embarrassed of his own white hair.

She strode forward and reached out to take his hand into both of hers, welcoming and genuine. “I’m Allura, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He was definitely blushing. “Lotor. The pleasures all mine.” He gently pulled his hand back.

Her eyes lit up regardless, openly excited. “Now that’s an accent I haven’t heard in quite a while.”

Lance was looking at them, head swiveling back and forth. “White hair isn’t a new fashion thing in England is it?”

Allura laughed. “No, just a lovely coincidence. I’m just glad that someone else shares my sense of style. Where are you from? Have you been here long?”

“Just London,” he replied, because it was easier than telling her he was from _Kensington,_ of all places. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more figures coming down the stairs, and, sensing a pattern, rushed to finish his sentence before he was interrupted. “I moved here just last year.”

“Hey,” the shorter of the pair approached him first, a white woman, drowning in an oversized green hoodie. “Lotor right? We heard from upstairs. I’m Pidge.” She shook his hand, and not-so-subtly prodded the man next to her forward. He just tensed and didn’t budge, all lean muscle and uncomfortable suspicion. He waved awkwardly instead, not moving. “Keith.”

“Where’s Shiro?”

Lotor jumped, nearly knocking into Lance. Hunk had come up behind him without him noticing. It wasn’t often someone was able to startle him, but he was grateful that they were distracted enough by their missing member that he could quietly compose himself again. There were just. So many of them.

In the distance corner of the house, a door slid open and closed, and Keith just said, “I think he was outside walking Lion.”

_They had a dog too_.

Lotor braced himself for the dog to run through the house to him, but it never came. Instead, Shiro appeared. He was tall, with broad shoulders and tired eyes, the right sleeve of his flannel shirt tied off halfway down, bringing an abrupt end to his arm; the dog, a black german shepherd, was walking quietly at his side.

“Hey Shiro,” Hunk said, “This is Lotor, one of our neighbors.”

“Yes, actually,” he started, because he _finally_ wanted to make his point, “I live about ten minutes away, but I’m with the Historical society. We wanted to welcome you to the town.”

“Right, so, quick question,” Pidge interrupted, “We know this place is old as hell, but is it haunted? Lance thinks it’s haunted.”

Hunk snickered, as Lance gasped indignity. “Throw me under the bus why don’t you.”

Lotor raised his eyebrows, caught between wanting to answer and utterly confused. “Um, well there are no records of anyone being murdered that I know of. I don’t _think_ it’s haunted.”

“Ha!” Pidge said, staring down Lance.

“I’m actually here to talk about potentially registering your house as historic?” He didn’t quite mean to make it into a question, but all the attention had really, sincerely, been turned on him for the first time and it was more than a little overwhelming.

Allura’s eyes were wide with shock. “It hasn’t been yet? For such an old house? I emailed the man we bought it from about any restrictions or rules but he never replied.”

_That’s Sendak alright._ “I’m honestly not surprised. He was fully within his rights to deny us from going through the steps of preservation and creating an easement, but it has been a bit of a stain on the town.” Shiro hadn’t looked away from him the entire time they’ve talked, and it was making him itch.

_Backpedal._ “Of course, you are also fully within your rights not to apply as well. It is quite a bit of paperwork involved, and the house _is_ officially yours to do with as you please.” He dug out his business card and handed it to Allura. “I’ll give you time to think about it. You can call me at anytime with your decision.”

He took a step back, finality in his voice, and they seemed to get the hint, despite the fact that he’d only just came in. There were a chorus of ‘thank you’s’ in various forms, and Hunk opened the door for him, thanking him again for the cookies. They were watching him, waiting for him to go, and Lotor swallowed tightness in his chest as he toed the line of overstaying his welcome. He decided just to look at Hunk instead, the man’s eyes gentle. “I really am happy people will be living here, it’s a great home, and deserves people that will take care of it. Thank you for inviting me in, it was lovely to meet all of you.”

Hunk smiled at him again, and Lotor was reminded of sunshine. “It’s really no problem. I had my doubts of moving here, but now that we’re finally here, and met you, I think it’ll be alright.”

Lotor’s heart jumped to his throat. “I-- Thank you. Have a great day!”

He turned and determinedly made his way down the driveway, adrenaline making him shakey, and then embarrassment for being nervous in the first place made him shakier. The entire encounter had only taken a few minutes for christs sake!

He got all the way to his car before he allowed himself to really think. They were kind, and a little overbearing, and definitely _not_ a white suburban family. He counted in his head. _Six_ people, all under the age of 30. Were there even enough job openings in the surrounding area? They would have to commute to the nearest city probably, about 30 minutes away.  What batch of friends would chose to all live together like that? In the middle of nowhere?

He started the car, and drove home on autopilot.

Whoever they were, they were definitely going to shake up the town-- by the time the Bridge club met in the library on Tuesday, they’d probably have a manuscript of gossip about the new arrivals. At least it’ll mean they shift their attention away from him, and stop hurriedly changing the subject every time he walked by.

The most important piece of it all, the thing that kept him awake half the night, was that _they might actually register their house as historic_. Which meant he would have an reason to see them again.

* * *

Working at the library had it’s pros and cons. A benefit was that it was a small library, with just him, one other library aid, and the head librarian-- a woman who once worked at a University Library, gotten her masters, and finally ‘retired,’ to this town. She was a force to be reckoned with and became one of the major downsides-- she had her system of how her library should be run, and was as meticulous as she was nit-picky.

Which meant no phone calls, for anyone, at any time, and especially no cell phones at all for staff. Lotor had made a costly mistake, and that was telling the six of them that they could call him at any time. His phone burned a hole in his pocket the entire morning, constantly worried about if it would ring, and what he would do about it if it did. He had never been so stressed cataloging in his life.

He spent his lunch break at one of the tables outside for two reasons: one, the weather was nice, and he was going to enjoy the summer as much as he could. The second reason was that if he did get a call, he was already outside, and clearly on his break.

It didn’t ring.

Nor did it ring that afternoon, when they closed up at three, or when he did his shopping, or made dinner.

No, that would’ve been too easy. It rang the moment he stepped into the shower.

So he stood there, dripping wet, frantically drying off his hand. He rushed to pick up the phone, cringing as his voice cracked. “Hell-o.” He tried again, “Lotor speaking.”

“My Son,” his mother said slowly, voice low. “You’re very difficult to find.”

_No._ Lotor froze, adrelinating spiking in his veins. He couldn’t breathe, throat closed tight. _No._ He hung up, and carefully sat down on the bathmat as his legs grew shaky.

He went into his contacts to block the strange number, eyes hot with the effort of trying not to cry, but she was faster, and the number appeared on the screen again, vibrating in his hand.

He choked, and gathered every scrap of energy he had left to answer. He didn’t give her room to speak, trying to be as clear as possible through the lump in his throat. “Don’t call me again.”

He was able to block her this time, but that didn’t make him feel better. Panic grew into frustration, frustration that despite _everything_ he had done to improve himself, they still could make him feel like he was _nothing._

He let that anger fuel him. He had work to do. He had been found. He would have to change his number again. He needed to _get the fuck off the floor._ He turned off the shower and pulled his sweatpants on, stalking into his bedroom for his laptop.

He dived across the bed, mind frantic for some kind of answer. Why did his mom call him, how did she find him? What about his father? _Why now?_

He opened up the search bar and stared, mind turning. _Why now?_

He typed in: **CEO of G.A.L.R.A Industries** , and filtered it for News Articles. He found his answer.

Two days ago, it was announced in a press release that Zarkon Diabazaal would be stepping down as CEO, due to his age and failing health. It did not specify who was to take his place, or what his current condition was, just that he was retiring to his property in France.

He wasn’t retiring. If Lotor had learned anything about Zarkon, it was that the man would never chose to retire.  

His father was dying.

The phone rang with a different number, and he didn’t move, letting it go to voicemail. His mother again most likely, who had called from a different phone. Hesitantly, he pressed the play button, and waited for the news he already knew was coming.

_“Hello again, darling! It’s Allura. We did some research, and we wanted to let you know that we’re on board for preserving the house! We would love to have you over again to talk it out. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but weekdays are tougher for us. Are you free this Saturday at say, 10? Just let us know one way or another. Right? Bye!”_

Lotor shut his laptop and pulled the covers up over his head.

He would call them back tomorrow.

* * *

 

For Lotor, Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. His mother never called again, but it was at the point where he was afraid to open his email or check his voicemail. He avoided the news on every account, perfectly happy to go back to the reality he’d been living in for months: the one where his parents didn’t exist. He felt like he did when he first arrived: he had been found, and now he was constantly looking over his shoulder.

Most of this fear _had_ to be in his head. He had no stake in the family fortune that he knew about, absolutely nothing to claim in the event of his father’s death-- but it haunted him. He even quietly googled “inheritance attorney near me,” just in case.

It haunted him because it might mean that his father didn’t cut him off completely-- that he still cared, and that made him more off balance than anything else. It made him doubt himself, and because of that, he was more than a little frazzled when he knocked on their door at 10 sharp.

There was muffled shouting, and Lotor breathed deeply, back straight, his file on the colonial house neatly tucked under his arm.

The door was flung open by Pidge this time, her hair done up in a messy bun, glasses pushed up onto her forehead. “Hey! Punctual huh? Shiro’s gonna love that.”

He didn’t quite know what to do with that information. “Um, thank you.” Lotor stepped inside and slid his shoes off, placing him next to the actual mountain of shoes in the shoe rack.

“Breakfast is almost ready.” Pidge lead the way into the kitchen, and Lotor frowned at the back of her head.

“Breakfast?”

“Brunch!” Declared Lance, and Lotor took in the dining room with barely held awe. There were two chimneys in the house, one connected to a small iron wood stove in the living room, and the other was to the giant fireplace in the kitchen. This one, the larger one, had originally been used for cooking. The brick fireplace had been framed with ornate tile around it’s base, following the half embedded chimney up the wall to the ceiling.

Exposed wooden beams slanted across the ceiling, dark in their age. The kitchen and dining room, because they took up one end of the house, were bright with natural lighting- the windows were small but there were many of them, diamond shaped window panes on three of the walls.

The dining room table was huge, mismatched chairs cluttered around it. The kitchen was the most modern room that Lotor had seen so far, with sleek marble countertops, a giant fridge, oven and dishwasher. A meticulously organized spice rack over the oven, right next to very expensive looking knives. Food had already been piled high across the countertops, and there was a steady rush to and from the kitchen of people setting the table and getting drinks.

“What do you want to drink?” Pidge asked, “I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh you don’t have to, I already ate this morning I’m really…” Lotor paused, because the amused, knowing look on Pidge’s face gave him no room to say no. “Water is fine, thank you.”

Pidge smiled and sidled her way up to Hunk who was swirling something in a pan over the stove, and as she reached up into a cupboard to grab a glass, he swooped down to kiss her quickly, and a playful smile spread across his face.

Lotor blushed, averting his eyes to the table in front of him, shifting his weight uncomfortably since he wasn’t quite sure if he should sit down, and if so, where.

Keith and Shiro sat on the far end of the table with their dog, all three seemingly unfazed by the chaos around them.

Lance and Allura had been setting the table, and the longer he watched, the more it seemed that the whole scene had been preplanned, everyone’s roles already allotted long before he had arrived.

Before he had interrupted.

_You were invited_. He told himself as Lance peeled away and bounded over to him with a grin. _They wanted you here_.

“Hey! We’re glad you made it! Come on, you can take the polka dot chair. Grab the plate too.”

“Food’s Ready!” Hunk called out, and Lotor just did as he was told, settling his file down and picking up a plate instead. A haphazard line was formed through the kitchen, and Pidge pressed a water into his hand as she passed him, her plate entirely covered in miniature pancakes.

By the time Lotor made it back to the polka dot chair, he had taken way more food than he thought he would, nearly tripped over Lion, agreed to a mimosa, and learned that he had a really hard time saying no to these people.

He’d ended up in between Hunk and Keith, making small talk and enjoying a hot meal. Keith slyly slid him a mug—from where he couldn’t say, but it was filled to the brim with a bubbly orange-pinkish liquid and Lotor looked at Keith with a frown. “I thought you said it was a regular mimosa.”

Keith shrugged innocently, but his small smile was soaked in mischief. “It’s a Texas mimosa. I used to be a bartender there.”

“What’s in it?” He lifted up the mug and tried to sniff it, but couldn’t distinguish much beyond that it was citrusy and sweet.

Keith looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he drank his own mug, smile growing, and Lotor decided that smugness looked _amazing_ on him. “Guess you’ll just have to try it.”

He was a lot friendlier than when Lotor had first met him, and Lotor guessed that it had something to do with the fact that they had been expecting him this time, but Keith still stared at Lotor as he sipped the Texas-themed concoction-- _what is Texas known for anyway?_ He seemed to be waiting for Lotor’s response, and Lotor ended up wincing, the drink’s aftertaste hitting him hard.

“It’s really good. And Strong.” was the only thing he could say, and it seemed to appease Keith, who turned back to his food.

“Alright everyone!” Allura said over the noise as everyone was finally settled. “I just want to say that I’m happy our monthly brunch went off without a hitch, despite the stress of moving. Thank you to Hunk, Shiro and Keith for handling most of the food this month--”

“As long as everyone else remembers to do the dishes this time,” Shiro said teasingly, with a pointed look.

_“Yes._ Well,” Allura said as a chorus of “oohs,” rose up around her, “I also want to thank Lotor for taking the time out of his weekend to come visit, and talk to us a bit more about the house.”

Lotor blushed and fumbled for his file, suddenly _very aware_ that he was supposed to be here for business, and that he had forgotten about that detail. “Right, I can give you a outline of the house and what a rough timeline would look like if you decided to go through with everything.”

“That would be lovely,” Allura said smoothly, warmly, and Lotor took a _very_ large sip of his mimosa.

“So, first off, this house has historic significance locally, being one of the oldest houses in the county, and would be under the category of architecture. As the owners, if you register this house as historic you could have some benefits like building code exemptions and tax breaks, but I will be honest that it doesn’t provide much more than that.”

“Well, then why do you want it to be so badly?” Lance asked.

Lotor paused. “Its-- um. I want to see it preserved. Having it be registered nearly guarantees that it be preserved, and all of its history be preserved as well. The family that built this house passed it down from generation to generation up until very recently, when the owner died and relinquished it to the bank instead of her daughter.” _Instead of her grandson._

“You mentioned there was a timeline?” Shiro asked.

“Yes, I have the paperwork here-- an application form that you can fill out as the owners of the property-- that would then be sent to the clerk’s office. There will be an inspection, most likely done by myself or one of my coworkers, to prove the locations condition and significance in order to have your application be approved. Once approved by the historic commission, there will be a public review hearing, where anyone can testify about the location. I doubt anyone would object to it being a landmark, but I can be there as well to support you. Since the town is so small, once the hearing is over the historic commission will release a report and make a decision, and that will be it.”

“Can I see it?” Pidge asked. Lotor handed the application across the table to her, and it ended up getting passed around the table.

“It’s simpler than I’d thought it be,” Hunk said when it was his turn.

“Speak for yourself,” Lance replied, reading over his shoulder. “It’s a bunch of fancy language and asking us about building codes.”

“Well, I actually went down to town hall and acquired most of the zoning regulations that you are under now and predicted what would be likely to change given the nature of the house, current safety standards, and problems that could occur in the future.”

Lotor held up the rest of the file that he had brought. “I wanted all of you to be well informed of what might occur. I know that I am being quite...forward, about this, but I also don’t want to ask too much of you. I want this to be as simple as possible.”

Shiro held out his hand and took the file from him, balancing it in his lap to flip through it. Allura was looking at Lotor, an unreadable expression on her face. “You’ve put a great number of hours into this house haven’t you?”

Lotor tensed, the nervous glow he’d had spiking into embarrassment. He _had_ but he had any number of reasons he could cite-- the foremost being that it was his _job_ \-- but he still felt a rush of shame, one that unfurled his spine, sitting up in his chair to his full height to appear stronger and poised.

“It’s good,” Shiro said, Lotor froze, biting deflection at the tip of his tongue. “I’m really happy with the amount of detail you put in, you’ve really thought of everything.”

Shiro’s approval seemed to reflect well, and Allura smiled again. “That settles it. We’ll register the house.”

“NOT IT for the paperwork,” Lance immediately chimed in.

“We’ll do it _together_ , Lance, as a _family,_ ” said Keith, stressing the words, and as the bickering went on, Lotor slowly relaxed.

It was a victory, he’d gotten what he’d wanted--but he still felt unsettled.

He didn’t let himself think about it until he left over an hour later, mimosa finally out of his system.

He _had_ put a lot of effort into the house, and he _shouldn’t_ feel ashamed. He had no right to be bitter, she hadn’t meant it as patronizing. Still, it reminded him of the passive-aggressive tactics of his mother, and it made his skin crawl.

He wanted, _needed_ this to succeed. It was his grandmother's house, after all. His mother may have estranged herself from her American family, but that didn’t mean he had to. Just wandering through the house on a little tour that Pidge had given him made him feel closer to her--and gave him more mixed feelings about his mother. This was the house that she’d grown up in, but he tried his best not to associate it with her.

His grandmother had always been kind, and he was more than a little determined to find his roots again-- his mother’s family line that went back generations.

He’d rather not focus on his father’s side.

It was still only early afternoon, so when Lotor got home he didn’t bother going inside just yet. He carefully crawled into the rope hammock on his porch, and enjoyed the sunshine, trying his best not to think about anything but the wind through the trees.

* * *

“Thank you for taking time out of your day for this inspection, I know it can be a hassle,” Lotor said politely as Allura welcomed him in two weeks later. The paperwork had been filled out meticulously, and to the relief of Lotor’s supervisor, they were approved to move forward almost immediately. Lotor was happy to volunteer to be the inspector.

“Actually I have the afternoon off,” she said leading him into the kitchen. “I figured doing the inspection while everyone was at work or busy would be better, less likely for anyone to be underfoot.”

“I’m surprised everyone was able to find work around here,” he said, and Allura laughed.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t easy. We’re all scattered around the area,” she said, reaching up to grab tea cups and a pot. “Why don’t you go out to the backyard, we can talk on the patio. I’ll just bring out some tea.”

Lotor, not really given a choice, opened the sliding door onto the patio. The flower garden was almost out of a fairy-tale, bright summer flowers in bloom with a little reading nook set aside on the stones, just one small table, and two chairs. It was utterly beautiful and a little… romantic... but he slid into a chair and felt warmth wash over him, utterly at peace surrounded by an obviously well-tended garden, clouds rolling lazily across the sky. 

Then he saw who was on the other side of the backyard.

Keith and Hunk were surrounded by two-by-fours, constructing some sort of giant wooden frame. Keith seemed to be measuring out and sawing the planks, while Hunk hammered them in. It would’ve been perfectly innocuous, if not for the fact that they were both shirtless.

They didn’t seem to notice Lotor, and Lotor didn’t want to bring undue attention to himself either, but he probably should have, as Hunk stood and stretched, and Keith paused long enough in his work to reach over and squeeze Hunk’s butt, making the other jump and laugh, a loud and happy sound.

He was staring, _he was staring_ , he physically shifted, purposefully glaring down a lilac bush, after images of sweat-soaked muscles haunting the back of his mind. He needed to get out more. Join a dating app maybe.

Wait. _Didn’t Pidge kiss…?_

“There we are,” Allura said, playing a tray in front of him. “It took me a minute because I have to hide the good biscuits-- everyone always eats them otherwise.”

She sat down in front of him, shear summer sundress gently falling around her body, hair falling into soft curls, and as she poured him tea, he spotted her perfect pale pink nails, sharpened to points.

A dating app was starting to look like a _really_ good idea.

He needed a distraction. “So what do you all do then, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well I’m an event planner, it's mostly for weddings and parties and such. The building is on the same street as Keith gym, which is really convenient for commuting. The gym is so small that Keith does a little bit of everything, but I think mostly personal trainer and a self-defense class.” Allura took a sip of her tea and leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Hunk is a mechanic for the transit company in the city, but doesn’t start for another week. Pidge actually found a job in town, basically being the only tech support in the entire high-school, but also doesn’t start for another week or two. Lance was harder, but he went to an interview today to work at a museum and planetarium. He’s trying to build up clients for dog walking as well.”

Lotor couldn’t help smiling. “Well, that sounds like them. I sympathize though, it’s never easy making a big change, especially something like moving here.”

“You moved here a year ago, yes? Your first year abroad is always so stressful. I’d been in America for a few years before coming here, and as nice as it is, I couldn’t imagine going right from one to the other.”  She was empathetic and genuine, and it threw him off. Lotor drank his tea, trying to collect his thoughts.

“It was yes, but I don’t regret it,” he tried to move on, not eager to talk about himself. “Is Shiro working too?”

Something passed over Allura’s face so quickly Lotor almost didn’t notice it. She smiled brightly, “Oh no, he’d been deployed overseas, and decided to take a break for a while. He manages the house, doing all the frightfully dull work like bills, and chores.”

She didn’t specify where, or for how long Shiro had been gone, and Lotor didn’t dare ask. “There’s something to be said about the productivity of housework, especially on a house as old as this one.” He paused, watching the glow of the summer sun frame her face, and swallowed heavily, blushing.

She took initiative then, eager to change the subject. “I wanted to ask you something then— or, not really ask, but sort of ask for an explanation.”

“Yes of course,” he said. He tamped down any and all feelings. _It wasn’t a crush, he was just lonely._ “I’ll try to answer any questions you have to the best of my ability.”

“Of course,” she echoed back, confidence suddenly a shadow of what it once was. “Lance had done all of the research and paperwork right now on the house-“

“I thought he had claimed not to be it for the busy work,” Lotor interjected, a little surprised.

“He feels useless around the house now without a job yet. Honestly, I think he welcomed having something to do.” Allura looked unsure of how to proceed, glancing down before steeling herself and looking at him directly. “We wanted to look into the family history of the house. It has not changed hands out of the family until very recently-“

Lotor knew what was coming, he felt it like a cold wind down his spine. Still, he couldn’t do anything but let it happen, teacup held gently in his palms.

“What I’m trying to say is that I am sorry for the loss of your grandmother.” Allura said in a rush.

“I--” It wasn’t quite where he thought she was going with that, and it firmly threw him off. He _should_ be honest, he knows it might make things easier by opening up. That’s how people make friends right?

At what point did he blur the line between clients and friends?

He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Allura. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know her as well as I wanted to-- my mother estranged herself when she married by father.”  

“Is that why you moved here?” she asked lightly, carefully.

“Everyone lives where they do for a reason. I moved here because I wanted to preserve the house, and there was a job opening,” he replied. _And this would be the last place my mother would ever look_. “Why did you move?”

“The space,” Allura said immediately, and smiled when he laughed. “And the quiet,” she said after. “This house is perfect for many reasons, but really, the city was too much for Shiro.”

“I’m happy for you then,” he said, meaning every word. “I’m glad a home like this can still bring happiness to the people that live in it.”

Her smile grew fond then, edges soft with understanding and contentment, and Lotor grew warm.  “With that, why don’t I start the inspection?” He stood up a little too quickly, mind thick with the emotions of a deep conversation he never wanted to have and never knew he needed.  

He followed Allura around, taking notes and pictures, the mask of a professional tightly on. Yet emotions bubbled to the surface when he entered every room. Seeing the personalities of a home’s occupants never failed to make him feel closer to them. It was always an intimate affair walking through someone's house, but this only seemed to make him lonelier, the thrumming flame of a crush in his chest refusing to extinguish itself.

He kicked himself the whole way home, wondering just _who the fuck_ he had a crush on anyway.

* * *

 

He stopped by the post office on his way home, a bi-weekly routine of forcing himself to pick up his mail and look at bills. He was walking out the door when he noticed an envelope that was distinctly different, delicate cursive sharp in it’s perfection.

He dumped it in the bin by the door, more than a little vindictive and frustrated at her determination-- she had found his P.O. Box. She knew where he lived, and likely why he was in the middle of _Vermont_ of all places.

It was only later, in the middle of the night, that he realized that his mother was desperate enough to contact him _by post_ and that _he_ was the one getting under _her_ skin.

He slept a little better than he had before, but it didn’t last.

The next few weeks passed in a haze, Lotor caught in a hailstorm of stressors between submitting his inspection report, library hours picking up as the school year started, and blocking every single strange number that called him, deleting voicemail after voicemail from his mother.

The good news is that he realized who he’d had a crush on, and the bad news is that it was _all of them_.

Monday came again and Lotor was stretched thin by the time lunch rolled around. He barely glanced at his coworker as he went into the far corner of the library to eat his lunch, doing his best to be hidden by the rows and rows of books.

Of course, someone had to find him.

Movement caught his eye and he saw none other than Pidge peak around the corner. Their eyes met and she grinned, sitting down across from him with her own bagged lunch.

_Don’t start a conversation don’t do it you absolute -_ “You clean up nicely,” he said, his own mouth betraying him. It was true though-- she had lost the baggy outfits she normally wore and traded them in for suit trousers. She wore a green dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a tan suit vest, her undercut freshly shaved.

It all matched the wicked grin she was wearing, large glasses perfecting the look. The aforementioned grin was aimed at him, and Lotor felt his heart squirm in his chest.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied with all the confidence of someone who looks good and knows it. “Sorry to ruin your hiding spot.”

“It’s no problem,” he said, “I’m happy to share.” He was surprised to find that he actually meant it.

“I can’t eat lunch in the staff lounge anymore,” she said, taking out her food. “It’s gossip central.”

“If you’re looking to escape being the center of attention I have some terrible news for you,” Lotor said, mouth twisting. “Nothing gets unnoticed here.”

Pidge just shrugged. “Well, I’d rather delay getting fired. There’s only so many times I can say partner before they figure out its more than one person.”

Lotor choked on his water. “So-- wait. So you are. All of you?” It was not the most eloquent sentence he’d ever produced, but it got its meaning across.

Pidge snorted a laugh, expression fond. “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t connect the dots?”

“Well, I didn’t want to _assume_ ,” Lotor began and Pidge rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’re all in a relationship together. Hell, we moved to the middle of nowhere-- now that’s love.”

Lotor could feel his pulse in his ears. “That--that sounds really nice.” Pidge’s eyebrows went up, and their smile turned softer, which Lotor took as permission to continue. “Does it ever get overwhelming? Do you ever fight?”

Pidge took a bite of her sandwich, tension leaving her shoulders. For all her bravo, she might’ve been worried about his reaction, and he relaxed as well, realizing that he’d passed some unspoken test.

When she finished her bite she said: “We argue all the time, but that arguing is also communicating. All we do sometimes is talk, just to make sure no one is left out. I have cliff notes of people’s feelings on my phone because sometimes it’s hard to remember the little things. It’s easy to assume that one person’s feelings are everyone’s feelings.”

Lotor took that in as he ate his own food. “I hope you don’t mind me asking you these questions.”

Pidge shrugged. “We’re cool. I trust you. Ask away.”

_I trust you_. Lotor blushed. “So, how long have you been together?”

Pidge seemed to be expecting that question, and they sounded more than a little proud. “Almost four years now. We all went to school in or lived in Boston, and it kinda grew from there. It didn’t really happen until we all threw ourselves into a three bedroom apartment trying to save money. We made plans to actually buy a house once Shiro came home-- Allura’s uncle was loaded and volunteered to give us a loan.”

“I’m happy for you,” he said, the second time his mouth had betrayed him. He deflected, smiling slyly, “I’m actually just happy the seven bedrooms in that house got put to good use.”

Pidge laughed. “Well, there’s only six of us, it you know anyone that would like it...” Their voice got lower, hinting at something else.

Lotor flushed, and looked away quickly. “Sure, I’ll let you know.”

Pidge let it drop, both of them enjoying their break, but after a few minutes, Lotor couldn’t help himself. “What’s it like, being in love with five people?”

Pidge looked up from her phone, expression unreadable, and seemed to put more thought into her answer than normal. “It’s...for me, I’ve always had a big family. I like the security-- honestly, I think we all like it for the stability. When one person is having a bad day, there is always someone who is willing to help in different ways. Allura might try to fix everyone's problems in a step by step manner, when really you need to feel good about yourself, so Hunk makes you bake with him. Or sometimes you need a Lance- someone to cry on- or a Shiro to give you perspective, or you don’t want attention at all and Keith will just make you lie down with him and take a nap.”

“And you?” What do you do to support them?”

Pidge rubbed the back of their neck, as a blush spread across their face. “I’m more intense. If they want it, I’ll listen to them vent and curse out whatever fucker made them so upset.”

Lotor choked out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. “That’s very specific strategy.”

“Yeah…” she shrugged. “I think I also I like it because of the challenge.”

Lotor raised an eyebrow. “The challenge?”

Pidge smiled. “I’m the logistics coordinator. I know everyone's schedules and have access to their google docs to make sure we don’t scedule dinner dates or birthdays or doctor's appointments at wrong times, or people pick up extra shifts they can’t actually make.”

“That sounds chaotic,” was his measured reply, a little overwhelmed at the idea himself.

Pidge stood and started collecting her things. “Stick around us long enough and you’ll really learn what that word means. Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said. “I have weekends off.”

Pidge paused expectantly. “Yeah?”

His heart was in his throat. “Just so you can put me in that calender of yours.”

“I’d be happy to,” she said, walking away. “See you later.”

_His mouth was going to get him into trouble someday._

* * *

 

“Thanks for coming to help again man, I would’ve been eaten alive by that committee without you,” Lance said again from his place on the floor, paperwork strewn around him.

“You still might be,” Lotor admitted, folding his legs to the side to settle more into the arm of the couch.  “Local government can be ruthless.”

Lance groaned as a distant door in the house opened. “Are you serious? I’ve been writing my pitch for like four days, they can’t say no to this speech. Or to this face.”

“It’s not that hard,” Keith said, as he stuck his head in the doorway. “I do it all the time. Hey Lotor.”

Lotor waved as Lance sputtered, and then waved again as Allura appeared behind Keith, her hair windswept from Keith’s motorcycle.

“Where is everyone?” She asked, and Lance shrugged in response. “Pidge and Hunk are in the garage working on something, and Shiro is in the shower after gardening.”

Allura disappeared into the kitchen and Lotor looked back to see that Lance was staring at him, face apologetic. “Shit, I’m sorry, it’s after six, I didn’t mean to keep you this long.”

Lotor shook his head, not ready to leave but also knowing full well that he should. “Anytime Lance, I’m glad I could help.”

“Well, um,” Keith said behind them, and Lotor twisted back around to look. “We’ve got plenty of food, and you’re here anyway. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Lotor couldn’t see Lance anymore, but he could hear him, and Lotor and Keith stared at each other right as Lance whispered to himself: “ _Would you like to stay forever?”_

Keith heard it too, judging by how bright red his face became, and Lotor, still firmly pretending that he didn’t hear the poorly timed Mulan reference, just said. “I don’t want to intrude…”

“Nonsense,” Allura chimed in from the kitchen. “You’re always welcome. It should be ready by seven.”

He should’ve pressed further, he should’ve said no because of the stubborn flame he’s held for all of them, but Keith’s smile was small and vulnerable and _hopeful dammit,_ and Lotor only sunk further into his crush and the couch, and said, “Thank you, let me know if I can help with anything.”

Predictably, they didn’t let him help with anything during dinner, but he insisted on helping with the dishes, and ended up next to Hunk, sleeves pushed up and arms covered in soap and laughing harder than he had any right to, as Hunk dried dishes and danced to Lance’s reggaeton playlist.

He was burning up by the end of the night, and the flame in his chest threatened to consume him-- he was so, _so_ happy, and if Lance had asked again, at that moment, he would’ve said yes.

He wanted to stay forever.

* * *

Wednesdays were slow normally-- no book clubs or bridge or school projects-- and because of that Wednesday mornings were even slower.

The head librarian had been away for the week visiting a new grandchild, and his co-worker left to run a seminar in the high school, so he was conveniently the only one in the library when she struck.

The clack of her heels on the old wooden floors demanded one’s attention, and the stoic expression on her face ensured that she kept it. She was in her 50’s, Indian, and predatory-- groomed to be the perfect image of a modern English businesswoman. She was not his mother, no, but something much worse-- his mother’s attorney.

Lotor felt slime crawl up his skin, but he was determined not to be affected by her and he went back to his book, expression carefully neutral as she stood in front of him, waiting to be addressed.

She didn’t move an inch, gaze piercing the top of his head. He turned a page, not actually processing anything he read.

She took a breath. “A message from your mother--”

“Can I expect you at my home next?” He interrupted, anger hot on his tongue. “If you make your presence known here again I will call the police and accuse both of you of harassment.”

“She is going to call you this afternoon,” she replied coolly. “Take the call.”

He looked at her then. “An awfully long flight to deliver a message that will never be received.”

She tilted her head slightly, appraising him.“I was under the impression I was speaking to an adult, and not a child too bold for his own good.”

Lotor clicked his tongue, “And I was under the impression you had more self-respect than to obediently fly across the world like a prized poodle.”

Her jaw twitched, the quip hitting a nerve. “If you take this one call, I can assure you that she will never attempt to contact you again.”

It was tempting, but altogether, too much to expect. “Can I have that in writing?”

Her mouth quirked up in what might’ve been a smile in another life. “No.” A business card appeared in her hand, and she placed it on the counter. “She will call with this number. Answer it.”

She turned and walked away, leaving the library right as his coworker arrived.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said, “I brought coffee, you look like you need it.”

He stared at her, then stared at the card, then at her again, suddenly resigned. “I...I think I might need to take the rest of the day off.”

Lotor ended up in the grocery store, utterly determined to get on with his life, despite how heavy his phone was in his pocket. He’d been in his head all the way through lunch, imagining how the conversation was going to go over and over until he finally made up his mind. If this would be the last conversation he would ever have with his mother, so be it.

He was going to tell her how he felt.

He went to the bakery section first, generously selecting one of the prettiest chocolate cakes they had, before attempting to do the rest of his shopping, with mixed results. He was anxious, and distracted, and ended up right back in the produce section, having gotten nothing on his list but everything unhealthy that he didn’t need.

His phone started to vibrate in his pocket, his mother calling earlier than he expected, and his whole world narrowed again, the curiosity in him screaming to just take the chance, take the call because _what if they were better now?_

He answered it. “Mother.”

“Lotor.” There was a unfinished tone to her voice, a sly remark bitten back.

He sighed. “What do you want?”

“We want you to come home,” she said, a request framed as a demand. “I don’t know what you’ll think you’ll find in that place, but it’s not worth it.”

Lotor felt acid rising up his throat. “You of all people would know, _you_ left it.”

“Of course I did." He'd hit a nerve. "Don’t pretend it’s not a dying town. Don’t pretend like that was a place to raise a family, to have a career. I had no potential there. No future-- your future is here.”  Her words were firm, an old argument with herself that she won every time.

“I left for a _reason_.” He replied, memories ghosting across his skin and making old scars ache. “I am not living anywhere near you or him.”

“Lotor,” her voice was softer now, “He’s...weaker now. Bedridden. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

”Then you leave,” he said, voice just as soft, almost pleading. _Leave and be the person you were before._

“I can’t,” she said, voice rising again, a mixture of determination and pride. “I am head of the company now.”

Whatever history had been in her voice was gone and Lotor resented her for it, sharpening his voice right back. “Then that's _your_ problem.”

“You can’t run from this Lotor, so stop trying.” Her voice took on a hint of desperation. “Your father only has a few more months to live, and he needs to know that you will stop wasting away in a library and actually do something with your life. This company is his legacy and it needs to be maintained by the next generation. We invested too much money in your education for you to do this.”

It was her full argument, out in the open. _They_ had paid for university, _they_ wanted him to be successful, _they_ needed him to keep up appearances for the good of the company.

Lotor tried to breathe through the tightness of this throat. “He doesn’t want to make amends?”

He heard his mother hum, an infuriatingly pleased sound of approval. “He will accept your apology if you agree to come home.”

“ _My-”_ Lotor stopped himself, standing ramrod straight in the produce aisle, indignation rolling off him in waves. He was angry at his parents, angry at the situation, and angry at himself for even _considering_ it for just one moment.

“No,” he said, and he sunk all the years of abuse into that word. “I _am_ home, and I will not apologize for being here. The best thing I ever did was leave, and I am  _never_ going back.”

“ _Lotor--”_

He hung up, ears ringing, phone clenched in his sweaty hand. He still couldn’t breathe. He’d actually told her off, and the only thing running through his mind was _holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck,_ Dear God he was having an panic attack next to a rack of onions for doing what he should’ve done ages ago he needed to _get it the fuck together._

“Are you okay?”

Shiro appeared in front of him, his shopping cart filled to the brim, and Lotor nodded quickly, placing his phone back into his pocket.

Shiro looked at him critically, and then tilted his head to the left. “Let’s go over to those strawberries in the corner. They’re still in season I think.”

“I-I’m fine,” He said, but Shiro was already pushing his cart in that direction. Lion padding quietly by his side. Lotor did a double take, finally taking in and connecting the bright red vest on Lion, the scars, and the lack of a forearm all at once.

If he could trust anyone with this, it would be Shiro.

He followed quietly, and let them stand together in the corner, and pretend to look at strawberries. Shiro was breathing deeply, audibly, in slow measured breathes, and Lotor focused on it, focused on trying to match his pace.

When Lotor was finally able to unclench his teeth, he forced his chest to rise and breathed deeply, doing his best to clear his head. “Thank you.” He didn’t quite know what to thank him for, but he appreciated having Shiro there, and for letting him calm down on his own.

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at Lotor. “You can have another minute if you need it.”

“No, it’s okay.” He sighed. “I just feel rather silly. It wasn’t anything bad, I actually did something that I needed to do for a long time, but it was...particularly difficult.”

Shiro nodded. Lotor could tell he _really_ wanted to ask, but took that answer instead.

Lotor wanted to tell him. He hadn’t told anyone why he’d _really_ come to the United States, or why he lived in this town, or why he flinched when people shouted, or why he had breakdowns every time he’d gotten a voicemail from his mum, but he wanted to tell Shiro. In fact, he wanted to tell everyone-- he wanted to sit in their living room with a mug of whatever Keith handed him and maybe for once feel okay about it. He trusted them. He knows, he _knows_ , they’d be understanding.

Shiro smiled at him. “If you’re sure you don’t need anything--”

“It was my mother,” he said quickly, glancing up from where his eyes were firmly fixed on strawberries. “My parents were very controlling, toxic in more ways than one, and when I was 23, I was finally able to get away. I moved overseas.”

He felt Shiro’s weight shift next to him, taking it in. “She called you?”

“Wanted me to come home,” Lotor replied, surprised at how even his voice was. “I told her off. Let her know that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m happy for you,” Shiro replied quietly. “Personally, I think we all want you to stay.”

Lotor was already more vulnerable than he was used too, but he went all in. “I’m glad I met you all, you’ve become important to me.”

There was a breath, and then: “We talked. I think it would be nice if you got to know us more. In a different way.”

Lotor shot his head up, surprised to find that Shiro was already staring at him, an incredibly _fond_ expression plastered over his face. Lotor tried to find his voice again. “I...would like that a great deal.”

Shiro’s grin widened. “Weeks ago, I got to see your notes on the house, and I think I knew instantly that you’d be good for us.”

“I- wait. What?” Lotor could see how sincere he was, and it killed him a little on the inside to hear these kind of words. He would never dare presume to be a part of _anything_ , but what did _a different way_ mean?  

Shiro continued, voice low. “I saw your notes and I saw a man who is detailed, organized, and passionate. I saw someone that, once he starts something, he follows through with it to the very end. You are committed, but you also like to be in control of the situation.”

Shiro turned away, and inspected the strawberries absently, a faint smile on his face. “I was the same way for a while, especially after being discharged.  So to be honest; we fight, we aren’t always happy with each other, and the color coordination system we have for chores is the biggest mess you’ve ever seen-- but we communicate. We talk every night we can, everyone has a private space if they need it, consent is always asked for, and the most important rule is that the last piece of cake is always evenly divided.”

Lotor swallowed, grip tightening on the handle of the shopping cart. “Why are you telling me this?”

Shiro shrugged and placed the strawberries in his cart. “As a warning I guess. And an invitation. There’s two beds waiting for you if you want them.”

Lotor was warm again, but for a profoundly different reason. “Two?”

Shiro’s grin gained a wicked edge to it and he started to turn the cart around, about to head to the check-out line. “One for just you, and the other for… well _everyone_.” He seemed more than a little pleased with himself, and did a little wave as he and Lion walked away. “Think about it. We’re having a nice dinner date at 6:30 sharp tonight- don’t be late.”

The moment they were out of sight, the life and noise of the store came back to Lotor in a rush, like time had restarted itself.

He took a breath, then two, then three, and his body caught up with his mind and he grinned, heart about to burst out of his chest. Two widely different things happened within the hour and not only was he nearly _giddy_ but he was also finally _free._

He finished his shopping in a rush, tearing through the aisles, and on his way out, grabbed two pricier bottles of wine.

He needed a plan.

* * *

The plan ended up not being much of a plan at all, as he wasted far too much time as he agonized over what to wear for a solid hour. On the drive over he mentally threw together the highlights of what he wanted to say, not sure if he was ready to actually talk about being in such a _complex_ relationship. He might not say anything yet at all.

_They were chaotic,_ he told himself as he knocked on the door at 6:29. _Live a little chaotically._

He had no plan for when Shiro opened the door in a bow-tie, or for when Hunk whisked away the wine he’s brought, or for when he was escorted out onto the patio to a full on dinner party- or the beginnings of one. The table was in the middle of the backyard, white tablecloth draped over it and candles lit, with fairy lights overhead, faintly glowing as the sun has only just begun to set.

“You’re on time,” Shiro said. “Everyone else is just late getting ready.” He closed the sliding door behind him, handing Lotor a glass of wine.

Lotor was more than a little thrilled to see that Lion was wearing a matching bow-tie.

“I’m going to be honest,” said Shiro, blushing a little. “The dinner date thing I thought of on the spot, because I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight, and I wanted to prove that we were serious. I— I’m glad you decided to come.”

Lotor stared at him, and the realization that this was all _for him_ hit him hard. “Wouldn’t miss it for the word,” he said softly.

“How are you feeling, after today?” Shiro asked carefully, sitting in one of the small patio chairs. Lotor sat across from him, struck by the memory of him and Allura having tea together at that very table.

He had a feeling that the patio was a place for deep conversations.

“I’m better,” he said honestly. “I told my mother the truth, and I think it’ll finally get through to her— it won’t matter with my father anymore though.”

“Why is that?”

“He’s dying,” Lotor said simply, the words feeling strange in his mouth. “He was an abusive psychopath that probably ran a criminal organization on the side, and he-“

The anger rose up his throat again, but it only came out as a disbelieving laugh. “He wanted _me_ to apologize for leaving.” He took a rather large sip of his expensive wine.

“So you’re fully moving on then?” Shiro asked. “Completely cutting ties?”

Lotor thought about his mother’s attorney coming back to haunt him. “Fuck, I hope so.”

Shiro’s words were cautious. “Even though your father is going to die?”

Lotor took a breath, and decided to be more than a little honest. “I have nothing more to say to that man. I don’t think I could be the bigger person, whether he’s alive or dead.”

Shiro only nodded, and Lotor felt the urge to explain himself, because for some reason he _needed_ Shiro to understand.

“I don’t want to forgive and forget. I don’t want to move on yet-- I want to hold it,” Lotor gestured to his chest, hand curling over his heart. “I want to keep it here, so that _I_ have the power, _I_ have the control. They don’t _deserve_ my forgiveness. Not yet at least.”

“It makes you feel accomplished.” Shiro replied slowly,  “To have a constant reminder that you are better now, that you’re in a better place. It gives you the power to clearly say that you were a victim, because if you forgive them, the line is blurred again, and you might not know where you stand, and they could manipulate you again.”

“I-- exactly. That’s exactly it.”

“You don’t have to move on yet,” Shiro said. “We’re happy that you’re just taking steps to be better with us, that you trust us so much.”

Lotor blushed, more than a little embarrassed. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I do. And I mean it…. But. Something to consider for the future, when you’re ready to really think about it, it might be good to consider letting go of your forgiveness anyway.” A soft orange glow faded around Shiro as he stood up, and Lotor stared at the scar across his nose. At the scars that crawled up his neck and down his arms and hands.

“Denying them forgiveness implies they were asking for it,” Shiro started, words firm and well rehearsed, solid in their truth. “Right now, it doesn’t seem like you parents regret anything-- they’ll justify everything they do and will never admit that they are wrong. So, not now, but maybe one day, you’ll be able to let go of them completely. It’s hard to explain, but I think it’s the difference between being a victim, and being a survivor.”  

Shiro smiled at him, his eyes distant, and something in Lotor’s chest seized up, unable to look away from him, unable to even _speak._ He had so many scars.

Shiro opened the sliding door. “I’ll go check in and see how everyone is doing. There’s snacks in the kitchen before dinner as well, whenever you’re ready to come inside. We’ll wait for you.” He shut the door behind him and Lion, and left Lotor on the porch.

The sky was pink and orange, clouds hazy on the horizon and he remembered his first night in America, when he stood on the porch of his dingy rural cottage, and sobbed as the sun set, signaling the beginning of his brand new life.

This was a year later, on a different porch, but the sunset was just as beautiful, because for the first time, he was really home.

Lotor finished his wine, and went inside.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to everyone on Discord who encouraged me and pitched ideas for this AU--the basic outline was a group effort and a lot of fun. (This was supposed to be a lighthearted AU why did I do this)
> 
> Forgiveness is a difficult thing to encounter when you grow older, and everyone addresses it at different speeds and ages. Be gentle with yourself, and know what your truth is, even when it's hard to admit. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @Kearatheshadow


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